The Continuation of Existence
by ink-springs
Summary: "it is not the explosion of two worlds that collide, or two souls that melt into one, but simply the continuation of existence" Basically, John and Sherlock's first kiss.


« Sherlock, it's alright, it's over now. »

Sherlock is nervously pacing in the room, his eyes never fixed on a spot more than one millisecond, his breath loud and erratic, his hands reaching for objects visible only to his mind. That has been five minutes, now. Five minutes since they came home after a wild chase after a suspect who tried to shoot John but missed him for a few inches, before being handcuffed and thrown in a police car. Five minutes during which, despite John's regular comforting attempts to calm him down, Sherlock never ceased to stride through the same five meters, never saying a word, never looking at John.

John, seated on the couch, is doing quite the opposite. His gaze is fixed on Sherlock, trying to understand why he is the one behaving like he was nearly shot. The times his flatmate lets his mask of coldness fall, showing for some brief and precious minutes that behind the apparently emotionless human being he presents to the world, there is actually a soul and feelings, are extremely rare, and are therefore as cherished as feared, since they mean he is in an extreme state of distress.

John finally stands up, unable to contain his worries, and Sherlock stops all of a sudden.

"John", he simply says, as if this simple world was both his poison and his antidote, as if John was the reason of his panic and the only one who could stop it.

John reaches Sherlock in three long strides. The man is a mess. His raven hair in all directions, his hands are trembling. But this is nothing compared to his eyes. John feels his heart in his throat when he sees how devastated Sherlock is. His eyes, those eyes, which seemed to be made of pure crystal and, depending the luminosity, could transform from the lightest of blues to the deepest of greens, say more than a thousand words to him. Every shout, every whisper, are exposed more clearly than ever, each one a different shade in those beautiful eyes, in which you could drown for hours.

Slowly, John reaches Sherlock's hand, and entwines his fingers in Sherlock's.

"It's okay, I'm here", John whispers softly.

It doesn't feel strange to be so close. It feels right. Sherlock is slowly calming, his breath is more regular, his hands are steady. They are less than a breath away, their eyes locked, sharing the same air, feeling the other's heat on their skin. Their gaze holds more than ten year's discussions, questions and answers are exchanged in a flutter of eyelashes, a thousand words are said in silence.

And when their lips meet, it is not the explosion of two worlds that collide, or two souls that melt into one, but simply the continuation of existence. It is like turning the page of a book, continuing a melody, waking up in the morning. As simple as it may seem, there is a strange and atypical beauty to these moments, the quiet reminder of life that you live for another page, for another stave, for another day. It is a quiet and sunny morning when they kiss for the first time. It was a quiet and a sunny morning when their world collided and when their souls melt into one, but it was a different day, and a different place, long years ago, at St Bart's. And as a remnant of this explosion, among the debris and fragments that lay on this unexplored path that is shared love, like the missing piece of a puzzle, they kiss.

They kiss slowly, comforting each other, their lips moving gently. John puts his hand in the back of Sherlock's neck, pulling him closer, and Sherlock softly moans when their tongues meet. For a long moment, they stay like this, albeit a bit awkwardly, finally at peace with themselves.

Softly receding, they look into each other eyes. And all they can see is their world. And the quiet reminder of life that they live for another kiss.

In 221B Baker Street, no one is trembling now, or if it is, it is with the fierce passion of love.


End file.
